


The Fallen

by alphades



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ghost!Allison, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 10:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3064307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphades/pseuds/alphades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the death of Allison Argent, the pack is forced to cope with life without her. That is until the day Allison suddenly appears in Lydia's bedroom, fingernails embedded with dirt and no recollection of how she has gotten there. For the pack, Allison's return should be a dream come true. Only problem? Her time back is limited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own "Teen Wolf", nor do I profit in this story other than the satisfaction of becoming a better writer. I do not claim to own any of these pre-written characters. All belong to the creator Jeff Davis and various copyright holders.

* * *

  _Feeling my way through the darkness_

_Guided by a beating heart_

_I can't tell where the journey will end_

_But I know where to start_

* * *

The cemetery is silent, aside from the light squawks of crows flying overhead. The grass is glistening from the rain fall the night before.

There is a fresh pile of dirt, in front of a newly planted tombstone.

_Allison Argent_

_1997 - 2014_

_"Nous Protégeons Ceux_

_Qui Ne Peuvent Pas_

_Se Protéger Eux Mémes"_

As a black crow perches itself atop the tombstone, a white rose grows from out the dirt.

Below, in a satin filled coffin, chocolate brown eyes burst open, as a strangled gasp escapes the dry lips of a dead girl.

And miles away, in a darkened bedroom, Lydia Martin shoots up in her bed, her body covered in sweat as she breathes out a single word.

" _Allison_."


	2. The Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack faces Allison's death, by attending her funeral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own "Teen Wolf", nor do I profit in this story other than the satisfaction of becoming a better writer. I do not claim to own any of these pre-written characters. All belong to the creator Jeff Davis and various copyright holders.

  _Really too late to call,_ _So we wait for morning_

_To wake you is all we got._

_To know me as hardly golden, Is to know me all wrong,_

_They warn._

It's _raining_. Little drops of water colliding against the glass of the windshield in a light rhythm. The sky is a dark shade of grey, and thunder can be heard rumbling behind the black clouds hanging over Beacon Hills. To call it a " _gloomy_ day" would be the biggest understatement in history. Because it wasn't just any other rainy day. It wasn't just any other storm occurring in the sky above. No, it was the day of Allison Argent's funeral. And for the 3 kids sitting in the beat up blue Jeep, parked at the top of the hill of Beacon Hills cemetery, to define today as anything other then _unbearable_ , was simply just false in context. Because one of their best friend's was dead. One of the strongest people they knew, was lying still in a coffin down the hill. One of the people they'd loved most, had fallen. And the sky was crying. This storm, was only a personification of the emotions they held within them. _Gloomy_ just didn't cut it. And as the roaring engine of the jeep finally shut off, they all felt the weight of the true meaning of the day, collapse on their shoulders. _Unbearable_. Yeah, that seemed about right.

Stiles' fingers slowly twine around the steering wheel, gripping tightly as he peers ahead of him. His red rimmed eyes, catching blurs of black as people dressed in funeral attire, hidden by their matching umbrellas, walk past the front of his jeep to get down the hill. The sleeves of his suit lift slightly up on his arms, and he feels the fabric brush against the hair on his arms. It was the only suit he'd owned. It had been his dad's. The last time either of them had worn a suit, it had been under the same circumstances. A funeral. His mother's. He could feel the irony of it all sitting in the pit of his stomach. It was enough to make him feel as though he wanted to get sick and cry all at the same time. Losing someone, is hard enough. However, feeling to blame for that loss, provides an entirely different kind of pain. It's a pain that eats away at you, demanding to be felt. An itching beneath your skin. A voice inside your head, confirming you're to blame when you forget to. It's hell. However, that's something Stiles is all to familiar with. And it's not until he feels another hand prying his fingers off of the steering wheel, that he's pulled out of the darkness in his mind, and the guilt is silenced long enough for him to regain focus on reality. Blinking wildly, he sucks in a sharp breath, and he turns to his side to meet the tear filled eyes of his best friend.

Scott is quiet, his eyes lowering when Stiles finally turns to him. When he finally manages to pry the rest of Stiles' fingers off the wheel, his hands drop once more into his lap and he shifts his body so that his head is resting back on the cold, sweaty window. He doesn't even feel the tears swelling in his eyes. He's numb. The last time he'd worn a suit, was when he'd gone to the Winter Formal. Where he'd first told Allison that he loved her. And although he doesn't wear the same suit today, the memory of his last experience in one, was enough to make him feel suffocated. His fingers lift to his collar, pulling at it slightly. He doesn't know what to say or do. He's supposed to. He's the alpha. He's supposed to be strong, and prepared to be the shoulder everyone leans on. He's supposed to hold the tears back, stand tall, and come up with a plan for a future without Allison. But the honesty of the situation, is that Scott can't be strong today. Today, he is confirming what he's been trying to deny for so long. Allison is gone. And no matter how hard he's tried to be his own anchor, to pull himself out of this black hole that's swallowing his very being, he _can't_. Because he couldn't save her. Because she'd said she still loved him, and now he'll never have a chance to say it back. Because when she took her final breath, and left the land of the living, she took a part of him with her. And so, asking him to be strong, is frankly asking of too much. Eventually, he'll move. Eventually, he'll say something. Eventually, he'll step out of his best friend's jeep, walk down that hill, and say goodbye to the first girl he'd every truly loved. Eventually. When he's ready. When the tears stop blurring his vision.

"I can't," Lydia is the first one to say what they're all feeling. Her voice comes out no louder than a rasped whisper, from her shaking red painted lips. She's dressed in a long sleeved, fit and flare black dress, that stops just above her knees. She says to herself that she's wearing black because it's her best friend's favorite color. That it's not for a funeral, but for a celebration of life. However, ' _is_ her best friend's favorite color' turns into ' _was_ her best friend's favorite color', and then ' _celebration_ ' begins to sound like the stupidest description of the event she's attending, because how can anyone celebrate losing their _best friend_? Their other half. Their sister. The only person they've ever opened up to? She's left wondering how anyone goes on, after losing someone they loved. How they can wake up and remember how to breathe, with the aching in their chest. How? Why? Questions that can never be answered. Allison was supposed to be here to tell Lydia everything would be alright. They were supposed to be shopping for prom dresses, 3 months early, because they were overcome with the excitement of the fact that they were finally juniors, and allowed to go. They were supposed to be talking about how Allison's first time with Issac went, and then Lydia would hide her face as she admitted that somehow Stiles Stilinski's 10 year plan was actually beginning to work on her. But instead, they would do none of these things. _They_ wouldn't even be a _they_ anymore. It was just Lydia. And she wasn't strong like Allison. She can't put on a brave face to convince herself and others that she's fine. That she can take care of herself. Because she can't. And with each minute passing as she sits in the backseat of Stiles' jeep, listening to the storm outside the assemble of metal and glass that is separating the 3 of them from the outside world, it became more clear to her. "I can't do this." she squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head. "I can't go out there." Her eyes flutter open, and she catches sight of the polish she'd absentmindedly chipped off of her nails while sitting. She turns her head to look out the window, her eyes glazed over. "This is all just," her shoulders lift. "..too much."

Neither of the boys turn in their seats to look back at her. They don't have to, for her to know that they'd heard her. They'd heard and felt every word that left her lips. It was too much. _Too much_ grief. _Too much_ pain. _Too much_ anger. _Too much_ left unsaid. _Too much_ for any teenagers to handle all on their own. Issac had already left town. Everything being " _Too much_ ", the exact reason nobody blamed him for not showing up today. They'd all gotten his text. He'd apologized for not making an appearance, the words "too much" being quoted with his reasoning. Residing in France, also contributed. However, they all new the former was likely to have contributed more. So, yes, they all felt it. And in that moment, it took everything in Stiles for him to not turn the key in the ignition, put his jeep in reverse, and speed away without a second glance. But they had to do it. They had to step out into the rain, and say goodbye to their fallen pack member. A girl, who had made a mark in all of their lives. A girl, who was so much more than her end. A girl who deserved, for her best friends to wear the strength she'd held her entire life, and give her a proper goodbye. A salute, to a warrior.

Stiles flicks his eyes up to look at her through the rearview mirror. She's crying now, her lips tucked in and the shadows of the raindrops running down his car window are reflecting on her face. "Lydia..." he calls her name quietly, and she releases her tucked lips, letting out a sob. "Hey," He unbuckles his seat belt, this time turning and reaching his arm back to place a comforting hand on her knee. "Look at me, right at me." He ducks his head slightly, and she snaps her eyes in his direction. "We can do this." Lydia begins to protest, but he's quick to cut her short. "I'm not going to sugar coat it for you. It's not going to be easy. It's going to be _hard_. And it's going to be one of the most painful things we've ever had to face, but we can do this." He pauses, craning his head back to look at Scott, who has yet to move. "Hey! You." Stiles takes his free hand, slapping it onto Scott's shoulder. The young Alpha lifts his head off the window, letting out what sounds to be a whimper. " _We_ can do this." This time it sounds more like a question than a statement, but Stiles still squeezes Scott's shoulder a bit tighter to try and hide his slight doubt. "We _need_ to," Lydia lifts her chin upward, wiping at her tear stained cheeks. Scott tilts his head slightly in Stiles' direction. "For _Allison_." he looks between the pair, who have now tensed under the mention of her name. " _Alright_?" Stiles' voice cracks, and he ignores the twinge of pain that enters his chest. The two nod numbly, and he releases them both. "Alright."

He turns back in his seat, facing foreword. He has to clear his throat, for the fear his voice will be lost. "Uh, Lyds, there should be an umbrella by your feet.." He glances at Scott. "You can use it, Scott and I will just.. deal?" He raises his eyebrows at Scott to confirm that's the plan, and Scott doesn't look at him, but manages to give him a short nod. Lydia leans down, picking up the umbrella and digging her nails into the rubber of the handle. "Got it?" He asks, and she gives him a close lipped smile. "Okay." He swallows the lump formed in his throat, before pushing his door open. The rain outside, instantly becomes louder, and he almost slams the door back shut to regain the comfort of the rain being muffled. Instead, he lets his feet sink into the damp grass, stretching, then he turns back and pulls the front seat up so Lydia can step out.

She hands him the umbrella, and he doesn't hesitate to open it before she takes his outstretched hand, hopping out of the jeep, and stumbling into his chest. He wraps his arm around her to stable her, expecting for her to leave his side once she's standing up straight. But she doesn't. She only holds onto him tighter, looking down the hill ahead of them. Stiles, confused, looks back through the open door of the jeep at Scott, who is staring back at them, his hand still on his door. His best friend holds sad eyes as he watches them. Scott held onto Allison that very same way the day she'd confided in him about her Aunt's funeral in the empty classroom. Knowing he can no longer do that forces him to look away, breaking he and Stiles' gaze, and shutting the door behind him. Stiles takes this as their cue to walk down the hill.

Scott meets Stiles and Lydia in front of Stiles' jeep, and the three stare down at the group of people down ahead, gathering around a silver coffin. It's now that they realize, stepping out of the car was the easy part. Actually walking down the hill,..that was the hard part.

"...Ready?" Stiles manages to get out now causing his knuckles to go white by how tightly he's holding onto the umbrella above Lydia's head.

"Nope." Lydia breathes, her chest rising and falling roughly with each inhale.

"Never." Scott's lips barely move as he answers, staring blankly at the funeral setting in front of him.

"...Yeah. Me neither." Stiles nods, and then with his free hand, clasps Lydia's hand in his own. She quickly intertwines their fingers, and with her other hand grabs Scott's hand. His hands were shaking, but stop once he feels Lydia's palm in his own.

Scott looks down at their hands, and then up at both Stiles and Lydia, who are now looking at him expectantly. He hesitates, but nods and then faces forward as they all begin their walk down the hill. The rain drops hit against Scott and Stiles roughly, quick to soak their suits, and hair. The umbrella doesn't do much for Lydia, due to the wind blowing most of the raindrops below the umbrella's shield. None of them seem to care though, as they concentrate on not sliding down the wet grass of the hill. Although the sky is rumbling above them, and the rain showers are hissing as they meet the earth, the walk down the hill is silent to the three. It almost feels as if they're walking in slow motion. There's a few times Lydia stops in her tracks to remind herself to breathe while the boys wait understandingly, and Scott is forced to use his werewolf reflexes to stop the three from falling, but all the same they make it down the hill without collapsing in grief. And to them, that says more than not.

Their parents had agreed to meet them at the burial site, after they'd requested to drive with Stiles from the funeral home. As promised, they'd met them at the bottom of the hill. Scott instantly let go of Lydia's hand, hugging his mother. Melissa McCall held onto her son, whispering quiet words into his ear. Lydia followed suit, letting go of Stiles and walking into the middle of a sandwiched hug from her parents. Stiles closed his umbrella, figuring it no longer held purpose seeing as they all were soaked, and allowed his father's arms to wrap around him. It was a moment between all four parents and their kids. It was brief, for the fear of being a bit like a stab in the heart to Chris Argent, who was watching on from where he stood in front of the coffin. And soon after the moment was over, the group of teens and adults, gathered with every one else, taking their respected spots in front. Chris gave them all a teary smile, before bowing his head as the pastor began to speak.

Everything said about Allison was general statements, typically said at a burial. Yes, she was a daughter. Yes, she was a friend. Yes, she was gone too soon. But it wasn't mentioned that she was a hero. That she died, saving a friend. That it was her final arrow, that killed an Oni. It wasn't mentioned that she was good at bowling, loved to dance, and hated photography, even though she was good at that as well. Nobody had mentioned that she'd fallen in love with a werewolf named Scott McCall, or had a best friend named Lydia Martin who was a banshee, or another friend named Stiles Stilinski who had been possessed by a Japanese spirit. Nor was it mentioned that she could kick a werewolf's ass in a fight if she genuinely needed to, or that she would stay up all night making sure that her friends and family were protected. Allison was being sent off, without almost all of her story being told. And although half of her story was made up of things that could not be shared with the human public, it still felt wrong. _Unjustified_ , even. So when the pastor closed his bible, and backed away, preparing for the coffin to be lowered into the ground, Allison's friends spoke up.

"Stop!" All three of them said, synchronized.

Everyone turned to them, and it was in that moment that the group of teens realized they'd spoken aloud. They looked back and forth from one another, mouths agape.

"Well?" Chris Argent took a step foreword.

"We, uh.." Lydia blinked. " _I_ " she corrected, feeling she couldn't speak for everyone. "I would like to say something, to Allison."

Chris' face relaxed.

"I would like to as well." Stiles pointed to himself, awkwardly.

"As would I." Scott lifted his head, catching his mother's sad smile.

"Right," Chris nodded slowly, "Go on." He took a few step backwards as the three teens stepped forward, looking down at the coffin.

"Uhm..." Stiles was the one to start. Scott and Lydia were thankful for that. "Allison," he stopped, her name in his mouth causing the knots in his stomach to grow. "I remember, when you first came to Beacon Hills. You were this, beautiful, uh..shy, cool girl who popped into my Econ class one morning. I remember seeing you in the hallway on your first day and thinking _man that girl must be really brave to start all over sophomore year, I could never be that brave_. And uh, I didn't really see much of you after that first day. Then the next thing I know.. you're going out with my best friend. And we finally got to know each other. You were just as brave, and cool as I figured you'd be. I remember you were always the one who offered to invite me to things. Yano, like bowling night, parties,..all that popular crowd stuff that nobody ever thought to invite me to. Even my best friend would forget sometimes, but you..you would always remember. I never got to say thank you, for that. So, I want to say thank you today. I know you can't answer back, but I know you can hear it. Wherever you are. We never were that close until this year, but I'm grateful for the year we did have. You became one of my best friends. You saved my ass more times than I can count. And uh,.." He felt that burning sensation in his nose again but this time he didn't bother to hold back the tears. "And, I'm just sorry I couldn't save you." he nodded to himself, as a tear fell off his chin. "I'll miss you." he wiped at his face, sniffling. By this point Lydia was crying again, Scott had his eyes closed. The rain, causing his hair to stick to his face. Stiles walked over to the coffin, bending down and whispering. "I'll take care of them...I _promise_." He patted the coffin lightly, and then stood once more, walking over to stand by his father.

Scott was next, feeling Lydia needed more time to regain her composure. He opened his eyes, his heart rate picking up it's pace. "Allison," he began and he felt like he'd been hit by a truck. "I.." he closed his lips, breathing. "I have so many memories of you, that I can't get out of my head. It's like a movie that's on repeat. But it's okay, because I don't mind remembering. Like, giving you my pen, on the first day. Or, seeing you smiling at me in the hallway. Or our first kiss, after my game. The first time... The first time you said you loved me." He sucked in a watery breath. "The last." he was thankful for the rain hiding the tears on his cheeks. He wished he could say the same for his voice. "I remember that time we snuck out of school to celebrate your birthday, because you were scared people would make fun of you for being a 17 year old sophomore. You'd said it was a perfect day. I'd never seen you so happy." He laughed lightly at this, but it was pained. "I want you to know, that you were _my_ first love. That without you, I wouldn't be who I am today. I'm a better person, because of you. A better son. A better friend. A better leader. You changed my life for the better. Even when we weren't together, you always stood by my side. And I will forever be thankful for that. I am so sorry... I'm so sorry that I didn't protect you." There was now no way to hide his cries, as his voice made it evident. "Allison, I will always love you." He cried. "...Because I love you.. remember?" He chewed at his bottom lip and then he turned around, meeting his mother halfway as she hugged him for the 3rd time that day.

Listening to Scott and Stiles' speeches had given Lydia enough time to cry, and to think of what she would say. How she would say goodbye to her best friend. She'd come to the conclusion there was no right answer. There was no right way to say goodbye. Because saying goodbye to Allison wasn't right. "I'm not going to say goodbye," she spoke, folding her hands together. "I'm going to say, see you later. Because a _warrior_... like yourself, never truly dies." she shrugged, tears filled in her eyes. "I know you, Alli...You never wanted to be weak. And goodbye, is for the weak. Losing hope, is for the weak. You were not weak. You were my best friend. My sister. And you died, on your way to save me. You were..." Lydia looked to Chris, who was making sure she stuck to the story. "You were killed, and it had happened so fast. And I never got to say that I love you. That you were the greatest friend anyone could ever come to know. You were loyal, you were helpful, you were a light in the dark. Allison Argent, you were what I aspired to be. _Strong_. And I wish I would have appreciated those small moments we'd had in the car bickering, or those nights we'd stay up late gossiping when we were supposed to be studying. All those goofy texts, and times at the mall trying on outfit after outfit. I had focused more on boys, and prom and all of those trivial things, when now all I'd want is to have you back." Lydia looked down at her hands, chipping away at the remaining nail polish. "You were my other half. I need you, Ally." She cried. "But, I will be okay. For the both of us. Because I know you can no longer be strong for me." She nods. "So..See you later, Ally A. I hope I make you proud."

When Lydia turned, it was not her parents who met her, but Scott and Stiles. The two opened their arms and it didn't take long for the three to stand in a group hug, crying. Chris, no longer able to hold back his own tears, walked over and wrapped his arms around the 3 teens. They adjusted so he could now be apart of the hug. It lasted for about 10 minutes, everyone else respectfully waiting. When they finally pulled apart, and the rain continued to pour, they watched as the coffin was lowered into the ground, everything about Allison's death seeming to feel more concrete and final than any of them wanted to accept. The funeral was over. It was like the final chapter to their story. The battle was over, but it had come with a very important casualty. Nothing about it felt right. It had been too soon. It wasn't her time to go. Allison wasn't the type to die. She was meant to live. But with each shovel of dirt thrown over her coffin, now under ground, the farther from the truth that seemed to be. She was gone.


	3. Seance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unable to cope with the loss, the pack go to extreme lengths to get back in touch with Allison.

_Calling your name in the midnight hour_

_Reaching for you from the endless dream_

_So many miles between us now_

_But you are always here with me_

It hadn't been any bodies idea that the Stilinski house be used for a pack sleepover after the day's events. Yet, somehow, like most things did, it just happened. The Sherriff didn't complain. He'd known they'd needed to finish grieving and the only way to do that was together. Although he'd been a bit surprised they hadn't chosen the McCall house to reside at. Stiles had informed him that Scott didn't want to go home, for the fear he might lock himself in his room and never come out again. Which, again, the sheriff was sad to say he understood. For a group of teenage kids, they'd been through more then he'd ever experienced, and that was including the fact that he'd lost his wife a few years ago. So, seeing them all herd into his house, didn't bother him. In fact, it made a sad smile grow on his face at the fact that they'd had each other. At times like these, that was all they needed.

"Looks like you kids got everything covered," Sheriff motioned to the pile of blankets and pillows that had landed on the living room floors, just In front of their beat up television and unused fireplace. "I'll just be upstairs in my room if you need anything." He informed.

Stiles turned to his father, a look on his face that neither of them really could comprehend. Still, somehow they understood it's hidden meaning, and Stiles gave his father a short nod. "Thanks, dad."

His dad waved him off, and then pointed over his shoulder. "There's money on the counter, if you guys wanted to order some food. Lock up before you go to bed and uh," he paused. "I'll see you all in the morning." With that, the Sheriff had felt he'd done his job, and turned to go upstairs before anyone could say or ask, anything else. Fact was, he was tired, and the weight of the events that had taken place over the last few months was sitting heavy on his shoulders. The worst part was, Stiles could see it. He could see his dad wearing down. And a part of him wished he'd never told his dad about what was going on in their dark world. Maybe, just maybe, he'd be better off. But he Stiles didn't have time to think about that. Not now, when his entire group of friends were sitting around in his living room, with glum faces and broken hearts. He understood why they'd needed him to host the comfort gathering. He looked to be the only one not slipping into a com-aboard of full on depression. Contrary to their beliefs, he was, he had just always been better at hiding his emotions. They said it made him strong, but with the thoughts roaming in his head, he knew he was anything but strong. Again, something he couldn't worry about.

Hitting out the lumps in the pillow he'd gripped in his hand, he let it fall on top of one of the blankets that sooner or later someone would occupy, and ran a calloused hand over his face. All he wanted to do was sleep. Sleep until the pain stopped feeling like pain and just turned into numbness. Because that he could bare. But standing there, in the middle of his living room, preparing a bunch of makeshift beds so that he and his friends could all pretend to watch a movie when really they'd all be lost in their own thoughts. was something he could not bare. Because he knew the thoughts were about Allison. and thoughts about Allison reminded him how if it weren't for him she wouldn't be dead. And with that guilt came the nausea, and the headaches, and the need to scream at the top of his lungs. All of which he could not do. Not ever. Not when Scott, or Malia, or any other of his pack members would hear his cries, and finally see how weak he truly was. No, no, that he definitely couldn't bare. So, instead he decided to clear his throat, and be the leader Scott didn't have the strength to be at the current moment in time. You're welcome, buddy.

"Alright, uhm," he scratched the back of his neck. "Does anybody need anything? Clothes? Food?.." It was stupid to ask the one question that everyone knew the answer to. What they all needed was Allison, but they all knew that wasn't going to happen. So, he felt it was better to ask then to not. Still he was greeted with silence, and he almost felt the urge to shout at everyone. Not because they weren't speaking, but just because he really just needed to let out a shout.

His red rimmed eyes flicked from each person in the room. All of them looking emotionally and physically exhausted from the days events. He could still feel what was the result of salty tears pouring from his eyes against the back of his honey dipped orbs. Swallowing, he ran a hand under his nose, sniffling to keep himself busy. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, he finally gave up.

"Okay, well, I'm gonna get out of this suit," he began to pull at his tie. The fabric around his neck making him feel suffocated. "I'll be right back." He turned, prepared to walk upstairs and take the lack of company to wallow in sadness for just a brief moment. Because truth be told he wanted to collapse beneath his emotions. He felt if the night continued on as it was, he just might fall victim to that.

He stalked up the stairs, gripping onto the railing to stop himself from falling over. Pain and sadness are two very complicated things. You don't realize how much they're affected your physical body until you find yourself in situations where it hurts to move. Walking up the stairs hurt. His body ached. And maybe it was because he just had a Japanese dark spirit regurgitated out of him a few weeks ago. And maybe it was because crying for the most part of the day took a toll on the 17 year old boy. Either way, the cause of his bodies fatigue was what made the usual 2 second jog up his stairs, a 2 minute drag up his stairs. His feet dragged behind him as though he had chains around his ankles, whilst his body drooped like a dying tree.

Eventually he made it to the top of the stairs. Then to his room, and finally to his bed. He hadn't noticed he'd fell on his bed until his head was buried in his pillow. His body, tangled in the sheets. Sleep was a high possibility. He was sure if he wanted to, nobody would notice if he just drifted off into a slumber. But then the knocking happened. And he could feel a groan prepared to erupt from his body. He didn't move, simply letting out a muffled "what?" from his lips that were still planted in the indent in his pillow. He could hear his door open.

Whoever it was, they'd taken about 4 small steps into his room, and then fell silent and still. Frowning, he poked his head up, squinting in the dark. From the light outside the room he couldn't see much but the small glow surrounding the silhouette of a girl. A girl with strawberry blonde hair, that had frizzed a bit in the rain from earlier. Lydia. His lips curved slightly upward into a small smile, and he pushed himself up ward, his sheets twisting beneath him.

"It's alright, you can come in." He rubbed at his eyes, resting his arms on his now propped up knees. Lydia seemed hesitant, but eventually closed the door behind her, and walked further into his room. What she did next seemed almost elegant. The way she slipped out of her shoes, and released the clip from her hair restlessly. Her body moved slow and delicate. Almost as though she was thinking about each movement carefully. Then, she sat on the edge of his bed, pulling her legs up onto it moments after. She wasn't looking at him, just staring ahead. The darkness of the room enveloping their bodies. Stiles couldn't help but look at her, concerned. She looked so broken and fragile. He just wanted to wrap her up in his arms and protect her. He always felt the need to protect her. Even though she wasn't his, and probably never would be, he still cared about her deeply. That, he knew, would never change.

She parted her lips, her legs crossed on his bed, and her eyes finding a way to glisten through her tears as the moonlight hit them. "I couldn't sit down there any longer," she admitted. "It was just, too much. I could feel everything. Everyone's pain and sadness. Guilt. It was.." She shook her head, not being able to finish the sentence on her lips. "I just needed to be alone for a little while." Stiles found it ironic how she chose to come to his room, where he'd said he'd be, when she wanted to be alone. But, he didn't verbalize that thought. He thought it'd be best not to.

"Do you want to use my room for a sec? I can change in the bathroom..." He offered, even though he knew she most likely came to his room for another purpose. Lydia was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. She knew he would be up in his room when she arrived, so she must have had something in mind when she made her way there.

Lydia shook her head numbly, her eyes not tearing away from the wall in front of them. "Okay..." Stiles swallowed, joining her in facing the wall ahead of them. The remains of the red strings hung up on his cork board rested limp on the pins that held them up. The memory of the past months flashed in his head and he winced, making a personal reminder to take the board down. It was most definitely time for a Spring cleaning. Even though Spring was about 4 months away. He would have to figure out another name for 'cleaning the remains from my month of possession'.

After about 3 minutes of silence, Stiles felt something brush against his hand. He blinked, not being able to see any thing in the darkness that surrounded his room. It was about another minute after that, when he got his eyes to focus, and he realized Lydia had taken hold of his hand in her own. A second later, and he found himself holding in a grunt of pain from how tightly she was squeezing his hand. This was not how he'd expected their first hand-hold to go, but he tried his best to enjoy it through the circumstances. Clearing his throat, he licked his lips before speaking.

"Um, Lydia?" The words came out hoarse, as though he'd lost his voice. He quickly turned his head away from the distraught girl, coughing into his fist to try and cover it up. By this point Lydia was already turning her head slowly towards him. It was almost creepy how slow she was turning to face him. But she still looked beautiful. And sad. So, very sad. There was a light behind her eyes that had gone out, and he could tell with each flip of her eyelids. He found himself lost in her eyes, upset that she seemed to be fading. He'd almost forgotten what he wanted to say to her, until he realized he'd left his mouth hanging open a bit and his tongue was growing dry. "...My hand, is kind of–throbbing." He blurted out, and instantly his eyes grew wide. That was going on the emasculative confessions list. "I mean, not that I can't take it, but, my body can't seem to handle much ever since... well, the Nogitsune."

Lydia said nothing. In fact, she didn't even let go. She just loosened her grip, and then sniffled. She had been crying. Stiles felt a bit frustrated he'd closed his blinds. The moonlight would have let him know she'd been crying a long time ago, and maybe he could have prevented her from crying too harshly. Besides, she looked beautiful when she cried, and he would have liked to see one thing that wasn't a casket with flowers and an arrow head on it in his head. He clasped his free hand over both he and Lydia's intertwined fingers, trying to reassure her. "Don't freak out over it. I was just letting you know. You sort of caught me off guard that's all. No big deal." He gave a weak smile.

This time, when she turned to him, she held a pained expression beneath a forced closed-lipped smile. It shot a pang of sadness to Stiles' chest to see her look this way. She suddenly sucked in a sharp breath, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "I can still hear her," she closed her mouth, looking as though she wanted to stop talking. "Allison. Her voice keeps ringing in my ears. It won't stop. It's like a broken record." Lydia completed, her voice falling almost into a whisper. Stiles raised his eyebrows, the confession not what he'd expected from the girl sitting before him.

"You can–What does she say?" He tilted his head to the side, genuinely intrigued. It wasn't in anyone's nature to be surprised by the things Lydia heard anymore. That being said, hearing the voice of her dead best friend was one of the more surprising confessions. Lydia seemed hesitant, her eyebrows furrowing and her teeth digging into her bottom lip. He rubbed a circle on the top of her hand with his thumb. "It's okay, you can tell me." Lydia's eyes peeked up at him from beneath her eye damp eyelashes, and she looked back and forth between his honey eyes.

After what seemed like a 5 minute deliberation, and a serious staring contest, Lydia's shoulders relaxed a bit and she pulled her hand away from his own, pushing a strawberry blonde lock behind her ear. "She keeps yelling my name. Over, and over.–And when I call out for her, she just says 'help me'," Her nose was red and her cheeks were flushed and he could see the look of confusion on her own face as she recited what she'd been experiencing to him. Stiles couldn't help but remember when he'd called Scott that night he'd sleep walked out into the middle of the woods. He hadn't remembered ever speaking to Scott but apparently he'd kept repeating his name, and saying 'come find me' over and over. The similarities of the situations was enough to send a shudder climb it's way up his spine.

"–Lydia, how long has this been going on?" He asked, cracking his knuckle on his open palm in deep thought.

"A few days after Aiden died," Lydia's eyes lowered at the mention of the boys' name. "It's gotten more frequent with each day–louder." her tongue stuck out, moistening her lips. It was something she'd always done when she was nervous or scared. Stiles was sure if the lighting was better he'd even be able to see her pupils dilate a bit more as the fear of what could really be going on grew inside of her. Clearly, something had happened. Allison–or–Allison's voice, had to of said something else to inflict this confusion and terror inside of Lydia.

Apart of him knew this all could actually just be in Lydia's head. Her guilt of not being able to help and save Allison from dying. But he decided to play along. If not for the fact Lydia trusted him enough to come to him, but because of his own desire to understand what this could mean if it was in fact Allison trying to contact Lydia. If both of those weren't a good enough reason, he could excuse it as needing a distraction from the fact he'd just buried one of his pack members and if he focused any more on the memory of her death and the smell of the grass that he'd stood in to watch her get lowered into the ground lingering on his suit, he would have a full on break down.

"Why would Allison be trying to contact you for help if she's...dead?" Stiles asked carefully, not wanting to upset Lydia to the point she would regret coming to him.

Lydia lifted her shoulders in a shrug, at a loss. "I don't know, but I can't keep hearing her voice every day. It's going to drive me insane," Lydia placed a hand on her head, her voice growing watery. "It's like my mind is trying to play a trick on me or something." Stiles pushed himself off of his bed, hurrying over and flicking on the lights. He ignored the irritation that shot through his orbs in reaction to the sudden exposure and walked back over to Lydia just in time to catch her first sob escape her lips.

"Hey, shh," He crouched down in front of her, his hands resting on her knees. "Lydia, you're going to be okay, alright? We'll figure this out, don't worry." The way Lydia was acting, reminded him so much of himself. The fear of breaking. The fear of seeming insane. Of losing your mind. Doubting yourself. All of these things, were what he'd experienced only a few months ago, and he refused, real or not, to let what Lydia was hearing to make her feel that way. "I just need you to try and calm down, okay?"

Her eyes squeezed shut, and her bottom lip trembled as she tried to silence herself by closing her lips. "I'm just scared," Stiles' hands slipped off her knees as she stood abruptly, walking past him and beginning to pace in his room. She ringed out her hands, spinning the ring on her middle finger anxiously. "I don't know, how to do this. I don't know how to deal with all of this. I thought I could learn, but with Allison's gone I just, I don't know any more–and now I'm hearing her voice!" Her pacing picked up speed to the point she almost became like a blur. With each word her chest heaved quicker up and down, and the tears multiplied. "Maybe I am going crazy, Maybe I'm–"

She collided into Stiles' chest as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a hug. She'd been so busy pacing, she didn't even see him stand up. She stood frozen in his embrace, his hand running up and down her back soothingly. He'd never hugged her before. It wasn't something they did. They weren't the hugging type of friends. Sure, she'd kissed him that one time in the locker room, but that was a one time thing, and he was pretty sure it was not going to happen again. So this, holding her in his arms, trying to comfort her when she honestly needed it most, was...different. His other hand cupped the back of her head, and she closed her eyes a bit as his fingers rested in her hair. Then, she lifted her arms and placed them around his body, her head resting against his shoulder. He could feel her calm down more and more with each moment he held her. A sigh vibrated through his chest before slipping out of his lips. "You, are not crazy," he assured her. "We'll go to Deaton tomorrow. It'll be over soon."

Lydia pulled her head back, looking up at him. The mention of Deaton reminded her of when he'd told them that they'd held an emotional tether between them; That they had the ability to pull each other back. They were connected. It was moments like this, when he was the only one who could calm her down, that she believed it to be true. He looked down at her, lifting his hand to cup her face. A side of his lip twitched upward into a small crooked smile, breathing a tiny laugh through his nose. "You just need some rest," his smile lessened a bit. "We all do." The look on Lydia's face made him question if he should be touching her like this. Cupping her face, holding her. Maybe it was too much. He couldn't help it. Ever since the sacrifice ritual he found himself even more drawn to her. The instinct to comfort her overruling his thoughts on whether or not he was taking it too far. All it took was Lydia leaning her face into his hand for him to know that this was just the right amount of comfort aloud.

A knock on the door, sent Stiles hand flying away from Lydia's face, who then turned around expectantly. They both felt like deer in the headlights, for reasons they did not know. When the door open it revealed Malia, standing with her eyebrows raised and her nose lifted in the air in speculation. After a few moments, she crossed her arms.

"You two wreak," she tapped her index finger on her arm as they remained crossed. "Am I interrupting something?"

Lydia felt slightly disgusted that Malia would even imply that Lydia would do anything remotely close to what was in the coyote's head, right after her best friend's funeral. Especially considering Lydia was all too aware of Malia and Stiles' blossoming relationship, and she wasn't the kind of girl to disrespect that. She had class, and wore it well. Stiles didn't hide his discomfort towards the were-coyote's comment either, knitting his eyebrows together and scratching the side of his face, as he always did in these kinds of awkward situations. Nevertheless the two stood silent, and they could practically see the suspicion beginning to rise throughout Malia's small frame.

Lydia glanced back at Stiles, hoping the young boy would find it his responsibility to answer the young girl. But he was still scratching the side of his face. So much so, that Lydia could see the slight redness growing due to the friction. Sighing, she turned back to Malia, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and answering the girl.

"Not at all, I was just going to head back downstairs," she wiped at her face, which was now rough due to the places her dried up tears had left their marks. "I'll leave you two alone."

Malia rolled her eyes, sensing something between the two but too drained from the day to continue to pester them about it. "There's no need to leave us alone, I was just coming to tell you that Scott's found something and I think Stiles should try and stop him from using it, because personally it seems like a really stupid idea."

That seemed to catch Stiles' attention long enough for him to actually zone back into the conversation as oppose to his thoughts on how moments ago he had thought about kissing the tears off of Lydia's cheeks. "Wait, what? What did he find?" he stepped forward just an inch, Lydia stumbling to get behind him so he could stand in front of Malia fully.

"I don't know what it's called, it's just some board with letters on it. Apparently he wants to use it to contact Allison or something." Malia flung her hand about, not aware of the dark meaning behind what she'd just explained.

"A ouija board!?" Both Stiles and Lydia shouted in unison.

Malia blinked, taken aback by their reaction. "I think that's it," she shrugged her shoulders. "I didnt care what it's called, I just cared about the fact that Scott is trying to contact a dead girl. I mean if he keeps stuff like this up, he might be the next pack member in Eichen house. Which is why you should probably go stop him.."

"Why would Scott find a ouija board in your house?" Lydia focused on Stiles, her voice squeaking lightly.

"I was a very weird kid," Stiles answered over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off of Malia's. "Is he still downstairs with Kira?"

"No, he ditched the both of us for the basement. He had this crazed look in his eyes. Like he needed to do it." Malia leaned against the door frame, taking a moment to look around Stiles' room, which was covered with dirty clothes and the remains of research lying around.

Stiles hissed something through his teeth, clearly annoyed with his best friend's negative choices, before hurrying past Malia out of the doorway, and flying down the stairs. The thumps of his feet hitting each creaking step sending a tremble throughout the house. Malia slowly turned her attention from over her shoulder, back to Lydia, with a blank expression. Lydia, with wide eyes, ran a hand up and down her arm, her eyes bouncing around uncomfortably. "So, what were you two really doing up here?" Malia asked plainly. "Don't lie, I can hear your heart beat if you do." Whatever Malia thought had happened moments ago was far from the truth. Still, Lydia found it intriguing how calm the girl seemed when asking about it. She would have thought even an assumption would send the werecoyote at her throat.

"Nothing. Really." Lydia let her arms fall to her sides. "I just needed someone to talk to about losing my best friend, and Stiles always seems to know what to say to snap me back into reality, so I decided he was probably the best person to go to."

Malia seemed to contemplate that answer for a moment, focusing in on the banshee's heart beat. When it appeared to be beating at a normal pace, Malia relaxed. "Oh. Well, then, I'm sorry. I'm still getting used to this whole...trusting thing. Where I come from possessiveness is in our blood." She tried to explain, the muscles in her neck straining as she tried to swallow down the embarrassment.

"Malia, I get it," Lydia closed her eyes. "..But he and I are, just friends. Okay? You have nothing to worry about. Besides, I am so over high school boys."

The were-coyote offered a close lipped smile, thankful for someone trying to understand her. Especially the last person she would have expected, Lydia. A loud shatter sounded from downstairs and both girls jumped, Malia whipping around and Lydia hurrying next to her to get a better look in the direction it came from.

"That came from downstairs." Malia stated the obvious.

"Yeah, I got that much," Lydia breathed, her once calm heart now pounding in her chest. "The question is, what caused it?"

Suddenly, Kira appeared in front of them, and both girls squealed, their hands flying to their chest and mouths in surprise.

"Kira!" Malia growled, angry that she'd been caught off guard.

"Uhm, we have a problem!" Kira's voice was shaky, as it typically did when she tried to explain something. Lydia hadn't heard one peep from the girl the entire day, so hearing her so frazzled was both comforting and disturbing. "The boys sort of, well,—they're fighting!"

"What!?" Both Malia and Lydia shouted in unison, confusion tracing their brows.

"Well, Scott wanted to use the ouija board to contact Allison, and Stiles tried to take it from him, telling him that he had to let go, and then Scott lashed out at him, and Stiles defended himself saying Scott was acting like a crazy person and now they're fighting!" Kira was speaking so quickly it was almost difficult for the girls to keep up. "I know Scott doesn't really know what he's doing because he's so out of it from today but, I just don't think it's a fair fight, I mean Scott is an Alpha and Stiles is, well, Stiles!"

Malia had heard enough and was already halfway down the stairs by the time Lydia could call out a quick, "Malia, wait!"

The girls hurried after her, as the fight continued to ensue downstairs.

"Scott— _Stop_ it, what the hell is the matter with you!?" Stiles shouted, his throat burning at the level he was yelling as he used all his strength to keep his best friend off of him.

"Give me back the board! I need it!" Scott practically roared, slamming Stiles into another basement wall, his hands curled up in the boys now ruined dress shirt.

Stiles grunted, his bones meeting concrete sending a sharp pain through out his body. "Scott, it's just a stupid board! It's not going to bring her back!" His voice cracked and he had to blink to ignore the pain that was now reaching his head.

"You don't know that!" It was almost unrecognizable, the boy that was supposed to be Stiles' best friend had now turned into an murderous being that was so desperate for a board he was willing to harm his best friend. Stiles knew he couldn't blame him. Whatever emotions he'd been holding in since Allison's death were coming out now, but he just wished it wasn't causing him pain.

"But I do know, Scott." Stiles let out a rasp, "Because it didn't bring my mom back either." He placed his hands over Scott's, trying to pry them off of him. Scott's breathing had become rough and almost as though he was prepared to have an asthma attack. "Scott, it's okay! It's going to be okay-" Stiles was interrupted by Scott being yanked out of his view suddenly. The alpha was thrown across the room, and collapsed right near the end of the basement steps. Malia stood in his place, breathing heavily and eyes glowing blue.

Stiles stood, mouth agape, as Scott didn't even attempt to get up. He simply began to shake on the ground, as he released the tears he'd been holding inside. Sobs escaped his lips and he clawed at the ground as though it would save him from himself. Stiles had never seen Scott break like this. Not since his dad had left years ago, but even that wasn't.. _This_. He clenched his jaw, swallowing down the knot that had formed in his throat, and felt guilt sit on his shoulders. This was something not even he could take away. Just as Scott couldn't take away his pain of losing his mother years ago. Some things you just had to release and push through.

Scott rolled over onto his back, still crying heavily. His face was red with heat and the salty tears glistened on his skin as they poured from out of his crinkled eyelids. Malia's claws receded, and she found herself backing into Stiles as her eyes lost their blue glow, and returned to brown. Her eyes were wide, confusion and surprise radiating off of her. Had she caused this? Had she thrown him too hard? She'd never experienced seeing someone release that much emotion that quickly. One minute he'd been a monster, attacking the only person she'd grown a true connection to. The next, he was a teenage boy, sobbing for the loss of his first love.

The stairs screamed and cried at the contact of which Lydia and Kira's heels stomped down them hurriedly. Lydia was first to reach the end of the stairs, where she halted abruptly at the sight of Scott. Her hair fell in her eyes, and with each heavy breath, they lifted and rested off and onto her face. Kira paused behind her, preparing to jump to his side once she'd realized his condition. Lydia was quick to stop her, throwing an arm up to block her. "Stop," she whispered. "Let him."

The veins in Scott's throat looked as though they would burst as his cries grew more violent, even allowing him to release a cough through his lips. He'd experienced heart break the first time he'd lost Allison. But at least he'd known she was alive. At least he knew there was a chance, maybe someday, of them returning to each other. Of them being happy. Now, he couldn't tell you what happiness was to save his life, and the heart break he was feeling now wasn't so much of an ache as it was a pain throughout his entire body. The aftermath of the shattering of his heart the day life had left her eyes in his arms. And it was killing him. Each day it grew harder. Today it had broke him. And he couldn't stop. He had lost it. With each tear he felt her slipping more and more away, and the agony was enough to make his body completely shut down.

Stiles looked up at Lydia, their eyes locking as they recalled what had just happened only moments ago. Lydia had been so close to being in Scott's condition. They were all falling apart. Was this how they would survive? Was this the way life was going to be from now on? Break downs, and heart aches, and emptiness? They knew it was a little too early to be confused by the sudden bursts of emotion, but with each cry that rang from Scott's mouth, they feared there would be no end. The true darkness around their hearts had finally set in. And it was sucking the life out of all of them slowly and painfully.

Stiles finally stepped forward, earning a quick grab of his arm from Malia, stopping him in his place. "What are you doing?" She shook her head, her eyes filled with worry. "He's still off."

"He won't hurt me again," he assured, gently pulling his arm away. "Don't worry." Stiles turned, facing his best friend on the ground, and slowly lowered down to his level. Stiles was never strong. Especially now, at a time where he found it hard to even carry a back pack since the Nogitsune. Nevertheless, with all of his strength, he placed his hands behind Scott's neck and back, and pulled him upward into a sitting position. The boys body trembled in Stiles hands, and he tried to ignore the sadness filling his chest at the sight of it. He had to be strong. For Scott and for himself. Scott didn't fight him, he simply fell forward, and with limp arms and a weak body, let his final cries fall out of him, beginning to slow with each thump of Stiles' heart. Stiles looked up at Lydia once more, not sure of what to do next. He was always good at being there and putting things into action. But right now, he couldn't do both.

Lydia breathed deeply in through her nose, straightening her shoulders. "Kira, do me a favor? Go find blankets.. And candles. They should be in the linen closet if I remember correctly." She spoke quitetly over her shoulder.

Kira was staring at Scott numbly. The reality of the situation dawning on her. They couldn't be together. Not now. Maybe not ever. Not when he was so broken. Sure, she could fix the broken pieces of a sword.. But not the broken pieces of a boy. He needed to heal on his own. Then, when the time was right, maybe. But the simple thought of not being with him...hurt.

"Kira," Lydia repeated, and Kira's eyes focused back on the banshee. "Did you hear me?"

"No, sorry.." Kira admitted.

"Could you please go get blankets and candles from the linen closet. It's upstairs near the guest bathroom." Lydia said slowly, making sure the kitsune didn't miss any information.

"Blankets and Candles. Got it," Kira's hair bounced with each nod. "Why though?"

"Because," Lydia's voice grew louder, and she folded her arms, turning back to Scott and Stiles. "We are going to participate in a seance." This caught Scott's attention, who acknowledged everyone's presence in the room for the first time.

"...What?" Scott asked, his voice thickened by the stuffiness of his nose from all the crying. His eyes were raw with tears.

"Yeah, what?" Stiles gave her a look as though to silently tell her she'd dug them all in a hole.

"A seance," She stepped off the stairs and walked around the boys. "A meeting with a group of people, in which they try and contact the dead." She bent down, picking up the board that had been tossed aside during the boys' earlier scuffle.

"I thought Stiles said the board wouldn't work?" Scott began to lift himself from Stiles embrace. Stiles pressed his lips together in a firm line, eyeing Lydia. "He tried for his mom."

"Well, he might be right. Maybe it didn't work when he tried for his mom. But maybe the reason it didn't, was because he lacked the power." Lydia tucked the board under her arm.

"What are you talking about? People on those ghost shows use a working ouija board all the time, and they're mortal. They don't have any powers. My board is just a cheap thing bought at the toy store." Stiles motioned to the board with his hand.

"You're right. They don't have power. They have special effects." Lydia squinted her eyes at him, and he was quick to glare back. "I'm saying, maybe it needed a little bit of spark."

At the mention of "spark", Scott's eyes lit up. "Deaton. Deaton always talked about a spark. Especially with," he stopped mid-way in his sentence, looking back at his friend. "Stiles."

"Well yeah, when it came to mountain ash. It's not gonna work for this sort of thing, I told you, I already tried." Stiles was now beginning to stand, pulling Scott slowly along with him. dust from the basement floor had collected on his pants and he was quick to brush it off. Not that his suit wasn't ruined enough already.

"Yeah, years ago, before you even knew about the supernatural. The spark is all about believing in what you want to accomplish. How could you have believed in something if you didn't even know it existed?" Lydia raised a single eyebrow, feeling pleased with her conclusion.

Malia walked up to Lydia. "You think Stiles can get this ouijy thing to work?"

"I think so, yeah. With the help of a banshee of course." Lydia tilted her head in thought.

"Why a banshee?" Kira lowered herself so that she was now sitting on the steps.

"Well, I'm assuming if I can sense the dead, I may be able to reach them as well." Lydia explained. "I'm kind of going out on a limb here, but it's worth a shot. For Scott's sake.." She swallowed. "And mine."

Everyone lifted their eyes to her.

"I think we all know, that this is needed," she lowered her voice. "If there's some way to even.. Hear her voice one last time. Or feel her presence.. I'm willing to try."

The room was silent, and then, Kira spoke again.

"What happens if we do reach her? If she responds?" She asked, her fear of what could happen if Allison were to ever to return evident in her voice.

Lydia looked back at everyone, not sure of what to say. She hadn't thought about what would happened if they succeeded. In her heart she knew what she would have wanted to do. But they hadn't even begun and it was too soon to make decisions. "I don't know." she said finally. "But, I do know it's late. It's best to do it now rather then later."

Kira looked down, clearly thinking over the plan.

"Kira?" Scott called out to her, and she instantly focused her attention on him. "If you're not comfortable, we can do this at another time."

Kira couldn't help but smile slightly. Even when it was so evident that it was what he'd wanted, he'd taken in the consideration of the rest of his pack. She couldn't be the one to stop these friends from doing what they felt was best for them to heal. She just couldn't.

"I'm fine," she breathed. "We should do it." And with that she placed her hand on the railing, pulling herself up. "I'll go get the candles..."

Lydia sent her a weak smile, watching as the girl treaded up the stairs, leaving the group alone.

Malia pulled the board from Lydia's grasp, examining it. Lydia hid her annoyance at the girls inability to be well-mannered.

"So, how does it work?" She flipped the board in her hands. "Do we just spell stuff to them?"

"No, we talk to them." Lydia pulled the board back from Malia. "We all put our hands on the planchette-"

"The what?" Malia closed her eyes in complete loss of what the word meant.

"The heart-shaped wooden piece, 'Lia." Stiles scratched between his eyebrows, sensing Lydia's growing frustration. "We use it to figure out the message that's sent..." he lowered his head. "If there's a message at all."

Lydia looked up at him, questioning his pessimistic attitude towards the plan.

"Oh." Malia spoke shortly, still completely lost as to what it meant, but feeling it wasn't the right time to ask anymore questions.

Scott had been quiet the entire time, leaned up against the covered up pool table in the corner.

"Scott?" Lydia's shoulders relaxed. "You okay?"

Scott nodded slowly.

"Are you sure?" Stiles asked this time, not believing his best friend he knew all too well.

"I just," he let his head fall back against the wall. "I can't believe we're doing this." He looked up at the ceiling. "I mean, now that I'm calmer...It seems a bit," The sentences, couldn't seem to get out of his lips. "Are we being stupid?"

"It wouldn't be the first time." Stiles lifted the corners of his mouth.

Scott scoffed a laugh, closing his eyes as he felt tears beginning to press against the back of his orbs. He was done crying. He had to hold onto whatever strength was left in him. "Yeah,-Yeah you're right I guess either way.. It's just something to add to our list."

"What list?" Lydia crinkled her brow humorously.

"Robin and Batman's list of stupid decisions." Stiles smiled at Scott.

"Isn't it Batman and Robin? Not Robin and Batman?" Malia was done with the confusions. So much for all the teenage lessons Stiles had attempted to teach her.

"He insisted that Robin be first." Scott rolled his eyes.

"As he should be." Stiles looked around at everyone, prepared to argue with whoever protested.

Malia was the first to snort a laugh, then Lydia who practically squeaked, and finally Scott and Stiles, chuckling to themselves like young children.

It was an unexpected moment of positivity that they'd all needed. And for a moment, someone would have never guessed that a few minutes ago, Scott had been collapsed on the floor crying. And even more minutes then that, Lydia had been crying upstairs. They all looked as they always should have. Happy. But special moments never last. They're short and later savored. As memories for the rough times.

"Okay, I got the candles," Kira's muffled voice came from beneath the blanket that was over her face.

Malia tore it off the moment she was in arms reach, revealing a flustered Kira. Hair full of static, and eyes wide.

"How did you see to get down the stairs?" Stiles looked her up and down in surprise.

"Just did." She shrugged. "Where should I put these?" She wiggled the candles in Lydia's face.

"Ah, I guess... Over there? But the blanket goes first." She pointed in the direction, and Malia scurried over, instantly whipping the blanket out of its fold and setting it on the ground. Kira was next, placing the candles in the center.

"What are the candles for again?" Kira asked as she set each up.

"They're a symbol of protection. Just so we don't let any other," she glanced at Stiles "dark spirits back in."

Stiles fidgeted at the reminder of dark spirits, shoving his thumbnail in between his teeth and beginning to nibble.

"Now what?" Scott's eyes bore into Lydia's.

"We.. We sit? And start? I think. This is my first time hosting a seance." She drummed her nails against the board in her hand.

"This plan is definitely going to be added to our list." Stiles said to Scott, clearly bothered.

"Okay, just sit down." Lydia pushed past everyone, tucking her dress beneath her and sitting on the blanket.

Stiles let out a breath of frustration, but still followed her orders, taking a seat next to her. Everyone else fell into place afterwards until they were all in a full circle.

"Now, typically.. This involves two people, if we're talking traditions. But since we now have 5 people.. we'll have to adjust our hand placements on the planchette." Lydia placed the board in the center of the blanket carefully, placing the planchette on it soon after.

"What's the planchette?" Kira frowned.

"The heart shaped thing." Malia informed proudly, her face beaming. Stiles shot her a quick smile of recognition.

"Right." Lydia nodded. "Now, each of us puts our first two fingers on the planchette, like so.." Lydia modeled for them all, placing just the tips of her fingers on one corner of the piece. "You should barely be touching it."

Everyone looked around the circle, nerves beginning to boil. With deep breaths, they all eventually reached out, and placed their fingers, copying Lydia.

"Good." Lydia cleared her throat. "Uhm, now we circle it around the board 3 times..whilst picturing Allison." She racked her brain trying to remember if that was correct.

With concentrated brows, everyone again, followed Lydia's movements. Circling the planchette 3 times.

"Now, we begin.." Lydia closed her eyes, focusing.

The room was eerily quiet, and everyone in the circle had honed in on Lydia, hoping she knew what she was doing. The candles being practically the only source of light didn't help. They were just a group of kids. Supernatural, maybe. But still, talking to the dead was never apart of their job description.

If Lydia didn't know what she was doing, this could end very badly. They all just hoped Deaton was working late just in case they needed his scolding and solutions.

Lydia's voice broke everyone's thoughts.

"Allison. Can you hear us? If you can, let us know of your presence.." Lydia questioned allowed.

Kira glanced at Scott who was now looking around wildly. Stiles had his eyes squeezed shut, looking quite terrified. Which was understandable considering his past with spirits. Malia, sat calmly. Not phased by anything. But Lydia.. Lydia had begun to rock back and forth. It was slight, at first. Almost unnoticeable. But then she stopped, and the planchette began to twitch. Stiles' eyes flew open.

"Who did that?" He asked.

"Not me." Scott stared at the board in shock.

"Lydia?" Stiles was hopeful it was her.

"Sh." Kira cut him off. "I think she hears something."

Lydia's neck craned back at bit, as she tried to get a better listen.

It was a few moments, silence engulfing them again.

Then, Lydia's head snapped forward, and her eyes fluttered open.

"She's here." Her eyes filled with tears. "She's here."

Scott's eyes began to glisten as well, and he sat up straighter, his heart jumping in his chest.

Stiles felt a chill run up his spine, and he rubbed his ear against his shoulder before hesitantly looking over it.

The planchette ripped itself from the groups hands, and they flew backwards. Kira and Malia gasping.

"Don't break the circle." Lydia's voice shook.

The planchette was going so quickly, it was hard to catch what it was saying.

"What's she saying!? What is she saying!?" Scott leaned foreword in a panic.

Lydia and Stiles squinted at the board.

**H-E-L-P M-E**

"Help me?" Stiles' read quietly aloud, his chest beginning to burn with anxiety.

**GOODBYE**

"No, Ally, _wait_!" Lydia shouted.

And then the candles blew out.


End file.
